Expect the Unexpected
by throwitaway
Summary: SS. Sark unexpectedly sees Sydney at the airport leaving for a well-deserved vacation, and he decides to surprise her...in more ways than others.
1. Interesting Accommodations

Disclaimer: See first post. A/N: Here's the first chapter, Interesting Accommodations. Please R&R. It's my first story!  
  
As he glided out of the airport terminal, Sark smirked. His lower lip twitched, and his eyes lit up, creating the illusion that he was enjoying the playful banter two young children were having in front of the gift shop. In all truth, that was the furthest thing from Sark's mind. He smirked for one reason and one reason only: Sydney Bristow. She blended into the crowd well: tan slacks, which accentuated the leanness of her long legs, a white blouse with a square neck, showing off her collarbone and a black trench coat that tied at her waist. She wore her sleek brown hair down past her shoulders, and her bangs brushed the tops of her sunglasses, which added to her mysteriousness. It was then that he gave into the truth that had been nagging him for months upon end: she was the most beautiful thing ever to grace God's green earth.  
  
Snap out of it, he thought. He did, almost instantly, and instead turned his thoughts to why Sydney Bristow happened to be in the same place as he at the exact same time. She couldn't be on a mission, he thought to himself again. She looks too normal...and besides, she would be leaving on a private jet if she were indeed going on a task for the CIA. And, his mind added with another one of his smirks, if she were on a mission for something, I would definitely know about it by now. Sark still stood in his place, contemplating all of the possible reasons why Sydney was there. She was going to Venice, that much was for certain. She was sitting down in the vinyl covered chairs in front of terminal A12, where Delta's first flight of the morning was going to depart for Italy. She was reading a magazine, and Sark squinted his eyes to see the title.  
  
Harper's Bazaar. He was vaguely familiar with the title, knowing that everything in the magazine was filled with things the rich and famous owned, trying to reel in the middle class women with couture and stylish models. The rich knew better than to be seen with a magazine such as that. Like him. He wasn't famous, but he sure as hell was rich. His mother's status in Europe combined with his inheritance from his father's death made sure of that. And even though he had everything in the world, there was one thing he had yet to covet.  
  
He knew, however, that he couldn't have her.  
  
The reason? It was simple. Two words filled his heart with dread every time he thought of Sydney: Irina Derevko.  
  
Irina, he thought, would slaughter me if I hurt Sydney. He couldn't help but think of Agent Vaughn while all this was running through his head. Agent Yawn was more like it. Did the man have any sense of humor? Or style? He seemed to Sark bland, and the young Brit compared conversing with the man with watching paint on a wall dry. He chuckled to himself, mentally patting himself on the back for his clever jab at the CIA agent. Agent Yawn...that's a good one.  
  
Suddenly, Sark's train of thought was broken by a woman's voice. "Would passengers in rows 1-9 on flight 340 to Venice, Italy please board now?" He looked around and saw numerous passengers on the flight get up and move towards the woman to have their ticket scanned. He stood still for a moment more, wondering whether McKenas Cole would miss him for a few weeks.  
  
No, he decided. He wouldn't.  
  
With that, Sark headed for the desk. "Excuse me, madam," he said silkily with his British accent, "I would like a ticket-preferably first-class-on this flight. This is the one for Venice, correct?"  
  
The woman, obviously taken aback by his charm, blinked a few times before fully comprehending all that Sark had said. "Yes, sir it is, but I'm afraid there are no first class seats available. We have one seat left, but it's in coach, and..."  
  
Sark cut her off. "I'll take it." He smiled lazily to soothe the harsh way he cut her off. He couldn't afford to piss off the airport staff when there was only one seat left on Sydney's plane. The woman smiled back, and started typing, while asking for his information.  
  
He stood there, giving her an alias and information he used for the trip he had just gotten back from less than an hour ago. The woman took less than a minute to type this all in, and then said, "It's an aisle seat, hope that's okay." She then handed him the ticket. Seat C10, he observed.  
  
"I'm going to have to be okay with it, Madam. Thank you for your help." He said graciously, most unlike his normal personality, but when it came to Sydney, his judgment was clouded. He had yet to decide if that was a good thing or not.  
  
Sark ran to the boarding section; the last person to get on the plane. The woman smiled at him as she scanned his ticket, and he practically barreled down the small terminal that lead to the entrance of the plane. He tossed a quick grin at the captain and went to find his seat upon entering the plane. He caught his breath moments later, and as he was standing waiting for people to clear the aisles so he could pass through, he looked for her. However, he saw no sign of her. She must have had a first-class seat. Lucky girl. Moments later, the aisles cleared and he found his seat easily. He was in the aisle seat, with the horrendous red and blue carpet on his left side, and the window seat on his right. The window seat, however, was unoccupied.  
  
He looked behind himself, and then around the plane to try to see any stray passengers, desperately wondering who he was going to spend the duration of the flight with. No one was standing up, though. This confused Sark. Wasn't the flight filled?  
  
No matter, he thought. He slid his carry-on under his chair and buckled his seat belt. He put his sunglasses on, and this hideous blue skullcap on, hoping to deflect attention from himself, in case Sydney did indeed see him. He looked nothing like himself. Hating to wear suits on planes (they wrinkled too easily), he was clad in jeans and a fleece pullover. He had sneakers on. He looked nothing like the suave Covenant agent he was. And that, he thought, is the beauty of it.  
  
The captain's voice came over the intercom a few moments later, instructing all passengers to put their trays in the upright position and fasten their seat belts. This was it. Sark was headed for Venice. His seat mate had still not shown up, but the minute he started to close his eyes, anticipating the rumble of the plane's engine, they arrived. Or, rather, she arrived.  
  
"Excuse me, sir, but I need to get into my seat." The voice sounded hoarse, like she had been crying. He looked up slowly, and tried not to stare.  
  
Sydney? 


	2. Just a White Lie

Disclaimer: See first entry.  
  
A/N: Here's the second chapter, titled Ironic Facades. Enjoy! Special thanks to cheeky-chaos and alexei04 for reviewing. I'm so glad you like it! I'm definitely excited about this story. This chappy's dedicated to my first reviewers -_-  
  
-Katie  
  
_______________________________________________________________  
  
He looked up at her, his blood freezing inside his veins, wondering whether she would recognize him. Then, he came to his senses. The hat, he thought. The sunglasses as well...they would hide everything about me that she knows. Besides, he continued the banter in his mind; it's not as if she expects me to be here. She will never know it's me.  
  
Again, he looked up at her, puffy eyes and all, and, in a daze, slowly got up to let her into her seat. As she sat down, he noticed the Kleenex crunched into her fist. So she had been crying. Sark pieced together everything he knew about her, and knew that if she was crying, it had to be something serious.  
  
Not that it mattered to him, however, he quickly assured himself. Even if he lusted after her in a highly unprofessional way and was something like stalking her at the moment, that didn't mean he wanted any 'relationship.' It didn't mean he cared. Tears didn't work on him. They were signs of weakness, no matter the circumstances. He didn't cry when he first murdered an innocent man. He didn't cry when his father was killed. He didn't even cry when Sydney, that beautiful woman next to him, tried to kill him with an ice pick. Nothing made him cry. Nothing ever would. Plus, he added to himself, crying would show that I actually have human emotions, and the whole world is convinced otherwise. Why disappoint now?  
  
"Are you going to sit down? The plane is about to leave." Sydney's voice, barely above a whisper, invaded his thoughts and he instantly stiffened up, something only her voice could do to him. It must be all of those death threats, he thought wryly.  
  
"Oh yeah, sorry." He said it without thinking, but his mind knew what to do. The words came out with an American accent, something he had not used since Irina took him to the states when he was fifteen. It disguised his true nature from the ironically oblivious secret agent at the window seat. He quickly sat down, and was taken aback when Sydney spoke.  
  
"Do you mind trading places with me? I...I have a feeling I'm going to be getting up a lot during the flight." She said it with a voice that made Sark want to give her everything. And he did. Or, at least, he gave her his seat.  
  
"I'm...Julian, by the way. Thought you might want to know. This flight is going to be quite long." The American accent seemed to roll off of his tongue now, with incredible ease. He almost laughed at the situation...his archenemy sitting less than a foot away from him, and they're making polite conversation.  
  
Through her dried tears, Sydney's eyes smiled back at him, and she thrust her hand towards him. "I'm Sydney. Nice to meet you."  
  
He smiled back, before he could mentally kick himself for turning into such a sap. Since when did your life turn into a cheesy Meg Ryan romantic comedy? he asked himself.  
  
After that horrible revelation, the most he could will himself to do was to sleep. Sleep is always good.  
  
However, when a child sits in back of you, sleep really isn't all that great, Sark found out an hour later, waking up to a child pounding the back of his seat with his fist. It took all he had in him not to punch the lights out of the little bugger, but then, he remembered that people call that "child abuse." He stopped himself before he could mutter to himself, "Back in my day, when children misbehaved..."  
  
In the moments following the disruption, he became aware of Sydney next to him, sleeping peacefully. Something caught his eye, and he realized it was Sydney's pillow on the floor. He didn't want to give her the dirty one, so he gave her his and carefully placed it under her head, when she grabbed his arm, inches from her head, and twisted it.  
  
"Bloody hell!" Sark muttered, trying to get away from the woman who was causing him unbearable pain at the moment. He took a moment to examine her face, and then it hit him. She's still asleep. He looked around to see if anyone was watching, and then he bit her.  
  
What else was he to do? She had a hold on both of his hands, and was scaring the crap out of him to boot, all while she was in a sleep state. The bite on her forearm certainly woke her up.  
  
Her eyes were bugged out, and she was panting heavily, but at least she was awake. Better than that psycho state she was in prior to that moment. She looked so bad, he could barely stand it. But most of all, she looked scared.  
  
"What's wrong with you?" He asked her, harsher than he meant. He stared at her through his sunglasses. She stared back, and then answered with a shaky voice.  
  
"Nothing...it's just...some problems I'm having. It makes it hard for me to sleep. Sorry about your hands."  
  
That peaked Sark's interest to no end. "What kind of problems?" He said it softly, trying to make up for the harsh tone he used earlier. Sydney stared at her hands that were placed in her lap. Sark didn't know what to do except sit there and wait for a response. Then, he found himself saying, "I mean, maybe I could help."  
  
She was the picture of innocence as she smiled at him with tears welled in her eyes. She was beautiful...even with those weak tears.  
  
"Is it problems with men, per chance?" He prompted, oddly wanting to know the answer to what was making Sydney so upset. He almost smirked when he saw Sydney's head shot up and looked at him with wide eyes, but he didn't. It would give him away. She slowly nodded.  
  
"Yeah...how did you know?" she asked incredulously. He could tell Sydney was amazed that he knew. At his psychic prediction, she felt a little more like opening up. "His name was Michael...he's back together with..."  
  
Sark however cut her off with a comment of his own. "God," he muttered. "I utterly loathe the name 'Michael.'"  
  
Sydney's laugh was throaty but sad. "I'm starting to, too." She looked at him. "Why do you hate it?"  
  
He then got a gleam in his eye. What should he say? Should he tell the truth? Or should he play mind games with her?  
  
He decided easily, and then said with an ironic twist to his voice, "My ex- girlfriend, Lauren, left me for a man named Michael."  
  
Sark had to keep from bursting out laughing at Sydney's shocked face. 


	3. AN II

Hey everyone,  
  
Sorry for the lack of updates. I've been trying to finish chapter 3 of ETU, but a) I've been having a major case of writer's block, b) I've been so busy with school, my professors are piling it on for the last quarter, and c) I've had this odd depression which really, oddly, makes it hard for me to write any flirtatious love/hate relationship story.  
  
I completely appreciate all of my faithful readers (cheeky-chaos, you rock!) and I promise I will have something within the next month, if not the next couple of weeks.  
  
-Katie  
  
PS. However, the new Alias magazine which features two pictures of David/Sark kind of made me snap out of my depression for a minute. Don't forget to tune in tonight! Die Lauren, die! 


End file.
